Friends: Death Over Easy
by Syl
Summary: Dinah matches wits with a town's strange denizens. COMPLETED!
1. Part 1

Summary: Dinah matches wits with a town's strange denizens. 

Author's Note: The Prologue is adapted from a joke Char shared with me; therefore, since the entire idea was basically her fault, I forced her to beta-read. Final note--the story is set in my 'Friends' continuity.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright December 2003

****

Death Over Easy

By Syl Francis

****

Prologue

****

Sam looked up at the familiar tinkling that signaled a customer. He scowled as soon as he recognized Erbina Darcy, the mayor's wife. Erbina was the kind of customer that usually made Sam wish he'd become a truck driver. Visions of hauling out of Pleasant Hill behind the wheel of a giant rig flashed through his head. 

Sam sighed and looked around at the clean, but worn counters and neatly stocked shelves of the drugstore. Like his father and grandfather before him, Sam was a pharmacist as well as 'proud' owner of the same pharmacy his father and grandfather had owned.

"Stuck behind the same counter Dad was stuck behind for almost 30 years," he muttered. He ran his hand through his hair, and immediately froze in the middle of the gesture. Unbidden, his wife's morning admonition rang in his ears...

"Sam, how many times do I gotta tell you--stop doing that! You're just calling attention to that receding hairline of yours...!"

Sam flinched at the remembered sting behind her words. All things being equal, rolling down the highway in a shiny, eighteen-wheeler was looking better and better.

"*Sam*!" Erbina's voice rang with authority. 

"Yes, Erbina?" Sam replied blandly. "How may I help you this morning?"

"I need to buy some cyanide," she answered with equal dryness. "Do you happen to have any available?"

"Cyanide?" Sam looked taken aback. "Erbina Darcy what in tarnation do you need cyanide for?"

"To kill my husband, of course. Why else would I possibly need it?"

Sam stared at the mayor's wife as if she'd grown another head. Indeed, he ran a hasty visual check of her just to reassure himself that it was really Erbina Darcy standing in front of him and not one of those strange pod-people he'd heard Ol' Bob Early going on about last week over at the barber shop. You know, the kind that kidnap Earth people in order to run weird experiments on them, only to replace them with look-alike clones grown from giant pea pods in their own backyard garden. 

"Well?" Erbina demanded impatiently. "Do you or don't you?"

Sam started, her words bringing him out of shock. "What--? I mean--that is...I--?"

"Oh, for heavens sake, Sam!" Erbina scolded exasperatedly. "Pull yourself together! I'm in a hurry. If you don't have any cyanide just tell me, and I'll go someplace else."

"Erbina, have you lost your mind? You know I can't give you cyanide to kill your husband! I mean, he's the mayor! Besides, you know what an idiot the deputy mayor is. If something were to happen to Mayor Darcy, then the town would be faced with an even bigger problem--*Deputy* Mayor Darcy, your husband's brother!"

"I am well aware of the shortcomings of both my husband and his fool brother," Erbina acknowledged. "But don't worry. If it makes you feel any better, I could kill him, too."

"Erbina, what's gotten into you? What's all this talk about 'cyanide' and 'murder'--?"

"Now, Sam, I never said anything about 'murder'--did you hear me say 'murder'? Of course not! I said I wanted to *kill* my husband; I never said I wanted to *murder* him."

"There's a difference?" Sam asked sarcastically. Before Erbina could respond, he held up his hand and continued, "Whatever you wish to call it--killing your husband is against the law! And if *I* sell you the cyanide, knowing your intentions, then that makes me an accomplice. We'd both be thrown in jail!" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Erbina, I just can't do it."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Sam," Erbina said quietly. 

"You know that I'll have to report you to Sheriff Brown," Sam added regretfully. Erbina didn't say anything; instead, she stood and steadily held his gaze for a few minutes. At last, she arrived at a decision and reached into her pocketbook.

"I was hoping to spare you this, Sam," Erbina said solemnly, "but, well...you've given me no choice." As she spoke, Erbina pulled out a photo and handed it to Sam. 

Frowning, Sam took the photo and stared at it. Blinking rapidly, he shook his head as if to clear his vision. He seemed to be having trouble focusing on the picture before him. At long last, a new and determined look came upon the normally mild-mannered pharmacist. Looking up, Sam's dark eyes met Erbina's resolute gaze.

Without another glance at the picture of Erbina's husband in bed with Sam's wife, Sam handed it back to her. "Well now, Erbina, why didn't tell me you had a prescription?"

****

Four years later...

****

"Welcome to Pleasant Hill--the somnolent capital of the East Coast!" Dinah chuckled tiredly as her headlights briefly illuminated the welcome sign located on the outskirts of town. According to the onboard computer, the small town was situated in the mountainous regions just inside the northern border of Gotham State. It was nestled in a small valley, hugging the shores of a manmade lake. 

Dinah yawned slightly. She was returning to Gotham City after a weeklong mission in Quebec, Canada, where she'd assisted the local authorities in breaking up a Quraci terrorist cell, and was looking forward to a long night's rest. She gunned the convertible's super-turbo charged engine, and roared off towards the town limits. 

"Hey, Blondie!" Barbara's familiar voice broke in. "Take it easy with the engine's rpms. My readout shows it's dangerously close to the red line. I promised Dick--"

"--You mean, you promised *Alfred!*" Dinah interrupted. 

"No, I promised *Dick* that we'd return the car without a scratch. That Porsche was his sixteenth birthday present. It has real sentimental value."

"Oh? Does it hold teenaged memories of delectable female conquests?" Dinah teased. "Say...of a certain redhead?" As she said it, Dinah tossed her head, enjoying the feel of the cool night air.

"No comment," Barbara retorted. "What are you gonna do? Find a room for the night or keep driving?" 

Dinah yawned again. "It's bed for me, Barb. I only hope I can find a decent room out here in the boonies."

"Here, wait a minute. Let me see what I can find..." Barbara murmured. Dinah could hear her friend and fellow covert operative on the global war on crime over their communications link. Dinah smiled as Barbara began humming unconsciously.

"Hmmm...sounds to me like someone has a hot date tonight, girlfriend."

"What?" Barbara asked distractedly.

"Never mind." Dinah shook her head. She knew that Barbara would never reveal anything personal over the comlink. She was too professional, too well trained by the 'Master of Need to Know' to ever break protocol. 

"Got it!" Barbara said triumphantly. "Stay on the road you're on for another 5.2 miles, make a right on Primrose Lane--"

"You're joking?" Dinah interrupted.

"--Proceed to the four-way stop," Barbara said without pause," and make another right. This will take you onto Blueberry Hill, where you'll find--"

"Where I'll find my thrill--?" Dinah quickly sing-songed, wondering if the Great Oracle had even heard of Fats Domino.

"Of that, I've no doubt," Barbara retorted, "but more importantly, you'll find the local Bed and Breakfast. According to the Standard Travel Guide, it rates three stars and has a vacancy."

"Sounds like a winner," Dinah said. "Thanks for the tip, Barb. G'night!"

"Good night, Dinah," Barbara said warmly. "Sweet dreams."

****

End of Part 1


	2. Part 2

Summary: Dinah matches wits with a town's strange denizens. 

Author's Note: See Part 1. Thanks to Char for her generous beta-reading.

Acknowledgement: "Signs" lyrics by The Five-Man Electrical Band, copyright 1971.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright December 2003

****

Death Over Easy

By Syl Francis

****

The tempting aroma of French roast coffee slowly, but insistently brought her to wakefulness. Relishing the moment, Dinah stretched in bed, luxuriating in the warmth of the down comforter. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the rich, aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee and...? She opened her eyes. Cinnamon buns, she wondered? Bacon? Eggs?

Her mouth watering, Dinah threw off the bedcovers and quickly jumped into the shower. A few minutes later, she was hurrying down the stairs towards the Bed and Breakfast's dining room. She was so intent on the enticing breakfast smells that she almost didn't notice the down-home orderliness of the place.

Grandma Drake used to keep her home like this, she mused. Spotless...neat, everything in its place, and a place for everything. 

A portrait of an imposing gentleman hung over the mantelpiece in the dining room. Dinah cocked her head sideways as she studied him. Why would anyone hang such a grim-looking figure there and risk giving diners heartburn? An ornate canister, slightly off-center on the mantle, caught her attention. Her lovely eyes narrowed. An urn? She wondered. As in for dead people's ashes? A definite appetite suppressant! 

Grinning ruefully, Dinah shrugged and made her way towards the buffet table. The only other occupants were a well-dressed, middle-aged couple. Dinah caught the woman's eye and smiled a greeting. After a slight hesitation, the woman smiled back. The man, presumably her husband, hid behind the morning paper and ignored both his wife and his surroundings.

Dinah stood for a moment admiring the buffet's morning offerings. Each dish looked yummier than the one before. She spotted the cinnamon buns that had enticed her into wakefulness and placed one on her tray. She next served herself scrambled eggs, bacon, Belgian waffles, and a generous serving of fresh fruit. 

She picked up a black carafe and poured herself a steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee. She inhaled deeply, detecting just the faintest odor of almonds and smiled. Dinah loved flavored coffee.

Carrying the overflowing plate on one hand, and the coffee mug in the other, Dinah carefully laid her booty down on the nearest table. Soon, she set to work on the breakfast goodies that were piled on her plate, savoring each bite before swallowing.

Dinah, this is the life, she declared silently. A fast car, a soft bed, and food to die for. What else is there in life? Unbidden, thoughts of Bruce and how he looked following one of his exceptionally rigorous workouts in the cave--his body sheathed in sweat, his chest heaving slightly--flashed in her mind's eye. Unconsciously, Dinah balled a fist until her nails were digging painfully into the palm of her hand.

Do not go there, Dinah Laurel Lance! She chastised silently. Bruce Wayne is not interested in you, and even he were, you're not interested in *him*! Remember? We've had this little conversation before! Bruce and you *is not* going to happen. Or any at the very least, what there *has* between us isn't there anymore! 

She remembered their last kiss, during one of the few times together when it seemed as if their relationship might work. And then her inability to keep her mouth shut over topics he considered off limits came between them; or rather, Bruce's inability to articulate even the most basic of feelings hurt Dinah more than she would openly admit. 

How can the man go for days without uttering a word? She'd asked herself on several occasions. No wonder poor Dick is as messed up as he is, she added. The man he worships never gives him a word of praise and rarely acknowledges he even exists. As for me--one man who conveniently forgot of my existence whenever the urge to cheat came over him is more than enough for one lifetime. 

Almost as soon as the thought formulated, Dinah felt an apologetic twinge. She wasn't being fair to Bruce. He was nothing like Ollie, and would never be. Perhaps he wasn't open about his feelings, but feelings he *did* have. Strong feelings. For proof all one needed to do was watch Bruce watching Dick as his son worked out on the cave's equipment. The pride she saw in Bruce's face was unmistakable. 

At the memory, Dinah smiled. Sometimes words weren't needed. She thought of giving Bruce a call and asking him to join her for the weekend. She immediately discarded the idea. Bruce leave Gotham City? Might as well ask a fish to leave the ocean. No, she needed this little break. It would give her time to think--about her life, about her partnership with Oracle, about her non-relationship with Bruce. 

And give her an excuse to stuff herself silly on all kinds of fattening foods, most of which Alfred would highly disapprove. Smiling, she was about to reach for her coffee mug when someone bumped into her table, sending the mug flying over the side. Too late, Dinah lunged for it.

"Oh, *excuse* me!" A woman suddenly appeared next to her, apologizing profusely. Dinah immediately recognized the night clerk--Erbina Something--whom she'd met the previous night when she'd registered. "I *beg* your pardon! Here, let me get you a fresh cup." 

"Oh, that won't be necessary--" Dinah began, but a clean cup suddenly appeared in front of her, as did a white coffee carafe. "No, please! I can--" But the woman ignored Dinah's protests, and poured her a fresh cup. Raised voices from two tables away caught Dinah's attention.

"I *thought* this was supposed to be our second honeymoon! I'm going back to the room!"

The woman Dinah had greeted earlier was standing and gesticulating angrily at her husband. Not wanting to appear as if she were staring, Dinah was about to look away, when the man stood suddenly.

"Julia, you're being childish. I'll only be gone a few hours. I told you, my secretary said this was a real emergency."

"Then why don't you ask her to come here and meet with you? John, why do *you* have to leave?"

"Julia, you're causing a scene," he said sotto voce. "Now, I've already told you. I'll only be gone a few hours. Afterwards, we'll take that little walk around the lake like I promised. What do you say?"

To Dinah's surprise, Julia suddenly smiled, and nodding sat down. To John's surprise when he tried to open his newspaper back to the page he'd been reading, Julia tugged it out of his hands and resolutely set it aside. Then, picking up the black carafe on the table, she poured them each a steaming cup of coffee. 

Raising her cup, she smiled into his eyes. "To new beginnings," she said. "Drink up."

Adjusting his face into a smile that simply wasn't quite right, her husband returned the toast. "To new beginnings." Raising his cup, he took a few careful sips of the hot liquid. 

Only much later did Dinah realize that Julia hadn't also taken a drink from her cup.

****

"You heard me, Barb," Dinah said airily, "I've decided to make it a long weekend. I think I'm staying through Sunday."

"But didn't I hear you say something about Pleasant Hill being the 'Somnolent capital of the East Coast'?" Barbara teased.

"I might have uttered something like that," Dinah said a bit defensively, "but it's exactly what I need--a little rest and relaxation for a few days. No mission. No terrorist wacko trying to blow up the world. No brooding Bat to make me feel guilty over something I haven't done--yet." Barbara snickered at her words, but Dinah ignored her. "Just nice, normal people." 

"I hear ya, babe. Look, you're less than two hours away, so it's cool. Just keep your cell phone turned on so that I can get in contact with y--!"

"Sure thing, Barb," Dinah said blithely cutting off her friend, and tossing the phone onto the backseat. "Whatever you say." Putting the car in gear, she began pulling out of the small parking lot that lay adjacent to the Bed and Breakfast. As she did, she passed John, the man who'd been arguing in the dining room earlier. He was making his way to the sole car remaining in the parking lot.

"Guess ol' hubby is gonna make his rendezvous with the 'secretary' after all," she mused. "So much for 'New Beginnings.'"

****  

Dinah strolled leisurely through the town's main shopping district, its quaint shops and lovely, tree-lined pedestrian streets captivating her. "Dinah, you're not in Gotham anymore," she said softly. An old-fashioned sign with carved lettering identified the shop she was passing as a used bookstore. On impulse, she entered. Momentarily blinded by the sudden change in lighting, she paused for a brief second until her eyes adjusted. 

Browsing through the store's overflowing bookshelves, Dinah's eyes lit in delight when she spotted a worn copy of _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_. With childish glee she found a chair in a hidden nook and began thumbing through the book's stiff and yellowed pages. 

Excitedly, she found the much-loved illustrations from so long ago, the same illustrations that her father used to point out to her as he read aloud. Memories came flooding back of sitting on her father's lap safely tucked in his arms as his deep, melodious voice seemingly flowed through and around her, clearly enunciating each word, magically bringing the Victorian world of Holmes and Watson to life. 

Dinah smiled at the memory. What else would a detective read to his kid? _Alice in Wonderland_? I don't *think* so! I wonder what Bruce read to Dick? She paused and did a double take. Bruce read Dick to sleep? Puh-leese! See? I really *did* need this vacation! 

Deciding to take the book, she closed it with a snap, and headed towards the front counter. There was no one there. She became aware of a death-like stillness in the store. A sudden chill washed over her. Where was the clerk? 

"Hello?" she called, looking around. "Probably in the bathroom," she muttered. On the counter, there was a silver bell with a small sign, stating, 'Ring for service.' Tapping the ringer lightly, she was disappointed when it produced no sound. A second sign proclaiming, 'Bell out of order,' made her roll her eyes. Moving away from the counter, Dinah called out again, "Hello? Anybody here?"

Around a corner she found a doorway. In place of a real door, a curtain of psychedelic beads cascaded more than halfway down to the floor, giving it a 60's look. Above it, yet another sign warned that it was for 'Employees only.'

"Sign, sign, everywhere a sign," she sang softly. "Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind. Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?" Shaking her head, Dinah added, "Nope!" Pushing the bead curtain aside, she stepped through into a very small, very cramped office. Tucked against the corner, a tiny desk lay encumbered under the weight of excessive clutter. It just barely had room for a lamp and a laptop computer.

And yet--? Wedged deeply into a corner, almost hidden between and beneath several haphazard stacks of books and dusty files, stood an ornate urn similar to the one she'd seen in the dining room that morning. Blinking in surprise, Dinah was about to reach for it, when she was startled by a stern voice behind her.

"Excuse me, but the sign distinctly says 'Employees only.'" Uh-oh! You are so busted, Dinah! She turned to face a very annoyed, middle-aged man with thinning hair and what looked like the beginnings of a paunch. "Can't you read?" He pointed at the sign above the door.

"Of course not," Dinah replied smoothly. "That's why I like to browse through bookstores. Gives me a sense of empowerment."

"Are you taking that?" he demanded brusquely, pointing at the book she still held.

"My, my...Whatever happened to employee-customer relations?" Dinah looked down at the copy of Sherlock Holmes, her eyes tinged with quiet regret. Reaching a decision, she shoved it unceremoniously into the clerk's abdomen. 

"Oof!" he grunted, doubled over in pain.

"If I wanted to deal with rude salespeople," Dinah said by way of parting shot, "I'd've stayed in Gotham!"

****

End of Part 2


	3. Part 3

Summary: Dinah matches wits with a town's strange denizens. 

Author's Note: See Part 1. Thanks to Char for her generous beta-reading.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright December 2003

****

Death Over Easy

By Syl Francis

****

An hour later, she was beginning to feel the negative effects of too much fresh air and small town charm. "I think I'm getting a headache," she grumbled. "All this healthy air can't be good for me." Maybe it was time to head back to the Bed and Breakfast. Making up her mind, she started retracing her steps to where she'd parked the car when she suddenly stopped. Two words on a storefront window held her attention: Ice Cream. 

"Now *that's* more like it!" Dinah immediately angled towards the local pharmacy, Sam's Drugs. "I've got it on good authority from Zatanna that ice cream is a surefire cure for anything that ails you, including headaches." And if it isn't, at least I'll be able to buy aspirin. 

Entering the drugstore, Dinah smiled at the musical tinkle that announced her presence. In Gotham, most stores had surveillance cameras and photoelectric eyes to warn employees when someone entered. Of course, in Gotham City there was a 48 percent chance that the person entering was a perp intent on committing a felony, or an escaped Arkham Asylum inmate with a predilection towards murder and mayhem.

Couldn't be too careful in Gotham, Dinah admitted. On the other hand, here in Pleasant Hill where the local paper's lead story involved the townspeople decrying the 'wild teen party' down by the lake last Friday night, while demanding the sheriff 'do something' about it, Dinah figured that most people who walked into a store were probably customers and not insane clowns with a murderous disposition.

As she walked through the neat aisles filled with well-stocked shelves of cough drops, shampoo, feminine products, and household cleaning items, Dinah heard what sounded like low voices in heated argument. She spotted a small sign directing her towards the soda fountain counter and headed that way. She smiled at the sight of the gleaming countertops, highly polished faucets, and behind-the-counter equipment. It reminded her of the ice cream parlor her detective father used to take her to on his infrequent days off. 

By now, it was impossible to ignore the angry voices. They were coming from a door that was slightly ajar. Above the door, a sign identified the room beyond as the 'Office' and warned 'Employees Only.' 

"I'm telling you, she's out of control."

"Now, Ben--"

"Sam, this is the third one in as many months! We can't--!"

The voices stopped abruptly. The next moment, the door opened all the way and a man dressed in somber, almost funeral clothes stepped out. Pausing at the door, he gave Dinah a long, measured stare, and then without further word, left. A second man, in a white lab coat, immediately followed him out the door. He, too, stood for a moment, studying Dinah. 

"May I help you?" he asked finally.

"Yeah. You wouldn't by any chance serve root beer floats here, would you?"

At her words, the man visibly relaxed and smiled. "Of course, what kind of soda fountain would we be if we didn't serve root beer floats?" He walked towards a wall phone and picked it up, speaking softly into it. Replacing it, he added, "My daughter will be with you in just a sec." He shrugged and smiled. "It's the off season so it's rare we get customers this early in the morning. Katie usually goes upstairs and does her homework--or does whatever teenaged girls do on a Saturday morning--until things pick up after lunch."

"Katie?" Dinah asked.

"My daughter. Oh, I beg your pardon. I'm Sam Peters," he said, proffering his hand. "As in 'Sam's Drugs'--I own the place." They shook.

"Dinah Drake," she said without batting an eye. She was on vacation, after all, and was not about to reveal her real name, Dinah Lance. "I'm here for the weekend...staying at the Bed and Breakfast over by--" 

"The Bed and Breakfast--?" he began, but was interrupted by the front door's musical chime.

"You rang?" They both turned at the sullen voice. A pretty girl of about fifteen appeared before them. She was dressed in what Dinah dismissed as 'wannabe gothic': maroon hair color and eye shadow, black lipstick, leather choker with metal studs, a black tee, with words in red letters demanding, 'Got Blood?' across her chest, black jeans, and combat boots. A nose ring and a perennial pout completed the picture. She spotted Dinah and her surly demeanor turned cold. Dinah felt as if she'd been slapped in the face.

"Katie, this customer would like one of your world famous root beer floats. Can you take care of her while I get some customer orders ready?" Nodding wordlessly, Katie stepped behind the counter and began to work in angsty, teenaged silence. Sam gave Dinah a helpless shrug that somehow conveyed all parents' universal mystification over teens. Dinah smiled in sympathy. She'd been a teenaged girl once and mentally winced at the grief she'd given her own parents.

Curious over the girl's apparent animosity, Dinah attempted small talk. "What do you kids do for fun around here?" she asked. Ignoring her, Katie slid the root beer float in Dinah's direction. Catching it with an expert hand, Dinah smiled her thanks. She took a tentative sip, and surprised, closed her eyes in ecstasy. "Oooh...! Do I know a girl who's just going to die with envy when I tell her about this...!" Giving Katie a huge smile, Dinah added, "Your dad was right, Katie. You *do* make the best root beer float in the world!"

At Dinah's obviously sincere pleasure, Katie began to thaw just a little bit, and she smiled slightly in return. "By the way...I'm Dinah." At Dinah's laurel leaf, Katie finally relented completely.

"I'm happy to meet you, Dinah," she said. "I'm sorry about, you know...acting like such a jerk--"

"Hey, say no more," Dinah interrupted. "I'm just glad we were able to start over." With that, the two chatted about inconsequential topics, such as, makeup and why boys (and men, Dinah added) could be so immature. 

Before long, Katie gazed off with a long, wistful look. "My mom and I used to talk like this all the time," she said. "I remember how pretty she was..." Her voice dropped to a low murmur. "I still miss her." Dinah reached across the counter and placed her hand over Katie's.

"I'm sorry, Katie...I know how you feel. I lost my mom, too, and I still miss her." Katie nodded, her eyes downcast. Changing the subject, Dinah asked, "So, just what *do* you do for excitement in this one-stoplight town?" Katie looked up and met her eyes. Seeing only kindness and understanding there, she blinked rapidly and turned away momentarily, quickly dabbing her eyes.

Turning back, Katie gave Dinah a grateful smile. "Well, there's the local bijou that shows five-year-old movies, Bob's Pool Parlor--no one under eighteen allowed--and the scenic overlook." She gave Dinah a sly smile. "That's where everybody goes to make out on Saturday nights. And it has a pretty good view, too." She added this last by way of afterthought.

"Sounds great. How much do I owe you?" she asked. Adding a very big tip to the amount Katie quoted, Dinah got up to leave. "Thanks...for the best float I've had in a very long time." About to turn away, a reflection in the mirrored wall behind the soda fountain caught her attention. "What the--?" she murmured.

Katie's eyes followed Dinah's. An urn, identical to the two Dinah had already seen that morning stood reflected in the mirror. Her chin set in a determined line, Katie gazed long and hard at Dinah. "Meet my mom," she said by way of bitter explanation. "All that's left of her, that is." Katie hurriedly walked around the counter and almost ran out the door. 

"Okay..." Dinah murmured, "two urns may be just a coincidence, but three--? The plot, my dear Watson, definitely thickens."

****

A few minutes later, feeling completely stuffed and not the least bit guilty over her indulgence, Dinah was headed towards the local police station. According to another pedestrian, whom she'd stopped for directions, it was just a block away. She wasn't sure what she might find out, she wasn't even sure if there were anything to *be* found out, but right now every warning bell inside her head was signaling that something most definitely *un*pleasant was going on in Pleasant Hill!

Before she'd gotten far, however, she heard someone calling her by name. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Katie on a fire escape landing, waving frantically at her. 

Frowning, Dinah walked towards her. About to cross the street, she was startled by the sound of approaching sirens. Within moments, a police cruiser escorting an ambulance flashed by. As soon as the emergency vehicles passed, Dinah hurriedly crossed the street and joined Katie on the fire escape.

"What is it?" she asked. 

"Not out here," Katie said with a shake of her head. "Come on, you can't let anyone see you!" Speaking in fervent whispers, Katie pulled Dinah inside. When they entered, Dinah saw that they were in the small living area, immediately above the pharmacy. "I just heard it on the radio!"

"Heard what on the radio?" Dinah asked curiously.

"There's been an accident," Katie said in low whispers. "Over by the scenic overlook. A car crashed into the bridge railing and went over the side into the lake. They've pulled out the driver--he's dead."

"I don't understand. What does that have to do with me?" Dinah asked. 

Katie gestured impatiently. "Don't you see? He was staying at the Bed and Breakfast--just like all the others!" Dinah felt a momentary twinge in the pit of her stomach.

"What others?" she asked. "Katie, you're not making any sense." Katie turned away in frustration. 

"Oh, you're just like all the other grown-ups!" she cried. "You won't believe, because you won't see what's directly in front of you!" Dinah walked up behind Katie and placed her hands on both of the agitated teen's arms, forcing Katie to turn around and face her.

"Katie, I want to understand, but you have to explain what you're talking about," Dinah said quietly. "Try me. I'm a great listener." 

Her eyes tearing up, Katie finally nodded. "It all started four years ago," she began. "The day I saw my mom and Mayor Darcy kissing." Knowing what this information must be costing her emotionally, Dinah only nodded. "I was only eleven, but I knew that married women weren't supposed to kiss other men--especially other married men. I loved her, Dinah. I loved her so much, but I knew...I knew deep in my heart that she wasn't happy."

She paused and walking towards a small table, she picked up a framed photo. "She was a lot younger than Dad when they got married." Her eyes took on a faraway look. "I remember that morning like it was yesterday. She was mad at Dad for something...I don't know what, but I could tell. She said something mean to him about his receding hairline, and then went upstairs to their room until he left for work. Afterwards, she came downstairs and told me that I was the best thing that had ever happened to her. She kissed me on the forehead, and then got in her car and drove away. Those were the last words she ever said to me."

Katie put the photo down. "I have to pass the Bed and Breakfast on my way home from school. I was admiring Erbina's prize-winning roses--they've like been voted the most beautiful at the Pleasant Hill County Fair for a zillion-years in a row--when I saw her." She stopped.

"Saw who?" Dinah asked. 

"Mom..." Katie whispered. Sniffing, she hurriedly wiped her eyes. "She was walking out through the back door, but before she'd gotten all the way through, a man grabbed her from behind. I was scared and was gonna run for help, but then I heard her laughing as if she was really enjoying herself. I snuck in a little closer, until I could see her through the screen--kissing Mayor Darcy. His wife owns the Bed and Breakfast, you know." 

Dinah nodded even though she hadn't known.

"Well, I was going to go in, right there and then, and tell her what I thought of her, when someone grabbed my arm and pulled me away. It was Erbina, the mayor's wife. I suddenly felt awful...if she saw my mom with her husband, then Dad would find out and--" 

Katie stopped, unable to go on. She sat down suddenly as if her knees were no longer able to support her weight. Dinah immediately sat down next to her and held her close. After a moment, Katie gathered herself and continued. 

"Erbina told me to run along that I shouldn't be trampling all over her roses. She never even mentioned anything about my mom and her husband, so I thought that maybe she hadn't seen anything. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. I just ran." 

"What happened then?" Dinah asked gently.

"I just kept running...I don't remember where I went or how long I was gone. It was dark when I finally got home." She paused, closing her eyes against the mental anguish she was fighting. At last, she was able to go on. "By then it was all over. Sheriff Carter was home with my dad. When he saw me, he just kind of gave me a sad look, and said good night. I asked Dad what was the matter, but he wouldn't look at me. When he finally told me that mom was dead, he didn't even wait for me to say anything. He simply went upstairs to his room and closed the door."

"And your mom was cremated?" At Katie's nod, Dinah asked, "Why? Did your dad explain?" Katie shook her head.

"All he said was that he wanted to always keep her with him. But I knew..."

"You knew what, Katie?" Dinah prompted.

"That he had something to do with it."

"Something to do with what?" Dinah pressed.

"With mom's death," Katie whispered. "I knew that somehow he and Erbina did it."

"Why do you believe that, Katie?"

"Because the same day that mom died, apparently having lost control of her car on the scenic overlook, Mayor Darcy was found dead in his own bed."

"And he was also cremated," Dinah added knowingly. Katie nodded.

"Okay, kid, I'll bite." Dinah's voice had taken on a businesslike tone. "Tell me more about the Bed and Breakfast--and about Mrs. Erbina Darcy."

****

End of Part 3


	4. Part 4

Summary: Dinah matches wits with a town's strange denizens. 

Author's Note: See Part 1. Thanks to Char for her generous beta-reading.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright December 2003

****

Death Over Easy

By Syl Francis

****

"I ran those autopsy reports you wanted." 

"Go ahead." Dinah stood behind the police tape at the scenic overlook. Emergency crews were just now beginning the process of recovering the vehicle that the victim--John Vernon of Gotham City--had been driving. The stretch of road in question had a dangerous S-curve and had been the scene previous accidents. In addition, the Sheriff's Deputy on the scene had reported that the accident was possibly alcohol-related. 

According to local news reports, Vernon's wife, Julia, with whom he'd been staying at the local landmark, Bed and Breakfast, reported they'd had an argument because he'd been drinking excessively that morning and the night before. Dinah recalled the scene in the dining room. She remembered Vernon taking only a few sips from his coffee cup. Less than hour later, she'd observed him walking towards his car, just as she was about to pull out. He had not seemed drunk to her at the time.

"According to the Gotham State Medical Examiner's Office," Barbara was saying, "there have been no 'deaths under suspicious circumstances' reported from the Pleasant Hill Coroner's Office for almost 25 years. The last case involved a man who'd been 'accidentally' run over by his wife. Apparently, she backed into him in their own driveway--several times."

Dinah snorted in amusement. "But there's nothing unusual reported within the past four years?" 

"Not according to the M.E.'s Office," Barbara replied. Dinah felt a sense of disappointment. She'd been so certain. "On the other hand," Barbara continued, causing Dinah's ears to suddenly perk, "while officially there hasn't been any suspicious activity reported, unofficially any reports coming from Pleasant Hill have been red-flagged for the past twelve months." 

"So what you're saying is that whatever's going on here--*if* anything is going on here--it's been enough to raise questions, but not enough to launch any sort of official investigation?"

"Correct. The autopsy reports of Margery Peters and Lemuel Darcy were filed on the same day by the Pleasant Hill Coroner's Office--death by natural causes. Peters apparently suffered from a massive heart attack, causing her to lose control of her vehicle, which subsequently went over the edge at approximately the same spot as John Vernon. The impact resulted immediately in death. Darcy's autopsy states that his death was due to a massive brain hemorrhage. In other words--"

"--In other words, a stroke. Who signed the autopsies?" Dinah asked.

"Benjamin Walters, the county coroner," came the immediate response. "And this is where it gets interesting." 

"Oh--?"

"Benjamin Walters also happens to be the town's only doctor *and* the owner of the sole funeral parlor in Pleasant Hill."

"So--?" 

"So, apparently his dearly, departed wife--whose autopsy report his office prepared--*also* reportedly died from 'natural causes.' Like Margery Peters, Sue Ann Walters suffered from a massive heart attack, and like Lemuel Darcy, she too was found dead in her own bed. What is even more interesting is that the previous evening she and her husband had dined at the same Bed and Breakfast your little friend says she last saw her mother. The one owned by Mrs. Erbina Darcy."

"Yet another coincidence," Dinah murmured. "Tell me...by any chance was the tragically departed Mrs. Walters cremated?"

"Funny you should ask, my dear Dr. Lance," Barbara replied. "Shortly following her untimely, yet 'natural,' death, Mrs. Sue Ann Walters was indeed cremated. As were, let me see...Mrs. Debra Edwards, wife of your favorite bookstore owner...Mr. Seth Carr, owner of a local auto repair shop whom rumors say was probably romancing the deceased Sue Ann Walters..., and Mr. Vincent Messina. He and his wife ran an Italian restaurant, 'Vicente's'--"

"Oh, I've seen it," Dinah with a snap of her finger. "It's on the main drag, about two miles from here."

"Correct. And it's still in operation today. Apparently, the bereaved widow found the inner strength to continue to go on without her husband."

"That is certainly most noble of her," Dinah murmured in mock approval. Barbara laughed softly.

"Well, in that case, you should be pleased to know that each of the deceased left behind appropriately bereaved spouses, who have all somehow managed to pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and continue with their lives. But not before they each had the deceased spouse cremated. After the Coroner's Report was filed stating they died of natural causes, of course."

"Of course," Dinah murmured. "After all, we must keep up appearances."

"Yes, but it gets better," Barbara interjected. 

"Don't tell me...let me guess," Dinah interrupted. "The gentlemen and ladies in question had all recently dined at our favorite local landmark, the Bed and Breakfast?"

"Dinah, we'll make a detective out of you, yet. Bruce would be so proud!"

"Don't push our friendship, Barbara."

"Sorry. To continue...the dearly departed all seemed to be having some sort of illicit affair at the time of their deaths. In almost every case, each party in the affair ended up dead of so-called natural causes."

Dinah took a moment to digest the information. At last, she spoke, her tone musing. "Barb, it looks like we've got trouble with a capital 'T' here." 

"And 'T' rhymes with 'P' and that stands for 'Pleasant Hill,' Barbara sing-songed lightly. Her tone suddenly serious, she added, "Dinah, that isn't all. Besides the local residents, there have also been a number of visitors to the town who've met with untimely deaths."

"Like John Vernon?"

"Like John Vernon," Barbara agreed. "They've all met either with an 'accidental or natural' death," she added. "Furthermore, most of these victims hadn't had any reported medical problem prior to suffering from some sort of massive heart attack or brain hemorrhage. Several were reported to have lost control of their vehicles over the town's scenic overlook point--supposedly due to alcohol-related circumstances--"

"--Again, like John Vernon."

"Again, like our Mr. Vernon."

"Only he wasn't drinking, Barb," Dinah said softly. "I saw him this morning. And he was perfectly sober." She paused. "Funny, now that I think about it, it was his *wife* who wasn't drinking..."

"What? His wife wasn't drinking?" Barbara asked, confused. "What are you talking about?"

"Barb, I saw them this morning, arguing in the dining room," Dinah explained distractedly. "I thought she was going to slap him or something, when suddenly her entire demeanor changed. She smiled and poured him a cup of coffee and offered him a toast to 'new beginnings.'" She stopped, trying to recall the scene exactly as she saw it that morning. It suddenly came to her, as clearly as if she were watching a video playback. "That's it! Barb, that's it!" she said excitedly. "*He* took a sip from his cup, but she put hers down...Barb, Vernon's wife never took a drink from her coffee cup! That's it! That's how she did it."

"Did what?" Barbara asked.

"How she poisoned him," Dinah hastily explained. "Barb, don't you see it? This morning, I'd poured myself a cup of coffee, but Erbina bumped into my table and knocked it over the side. At the time, I thought it was an accident, but now I'm sure it was totally deliberate! Before I knew what was going on, I had a brand new cup in front of me and my very own carafe. Barb...the carafe she gave me was white; the carafe I'd poured myself a cup from had been black!"

"And that's important because--?"

"That's important because Julia Vernon poured her husband a cup of coffee from a black carafe similar to the one I'd used earlier," Dinah said hurriedly. "Oh, Barb, can't you see? Julia deliberately *put her cup down*! She knew it was poisoned. The coffee in the black carafe was meant for John Vernon all along. Julia was just as much in on this as Erbina Darcy!" She paused, the enormity of what she'd just said dawning on her. "Barb, that means that all those visitors to town who've stayed at the Bed and Breakfast...the ones who died by so-called 'natural causes' or who have had tragic accidents--"

"It means that they were probably set up," Barbara finished. "I'll run a check to see if any were cheating on their spouses. If that's the case, then..."

"...Then it's likely that Erbina Darcy is running some kind of 'Murder, Inc.' and half the town's leading citizens are in on it with her!"

****

End of Part 4


	5. Part 5

Summary: Dinah matches wits with a town's strange denizens. 

Author's Note: See Part 1. Thanks to Char for her generous beta-reading.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright December 2003

****

Death Over Easy

By Syl Francis

****

Erbina projected a strong and comforting presence. Sitting next to Mrs. Julia Vernon, the grieving widow, Erbina held her hand, stroking it in a soothing rhythm. Also present were Sam Peters, Anna Maria Messina, and Ray Edwards--all respected members of the Town Council. 

They were each there to offer the widow moral support and whatever small condolences they could convey on behalf of the citizens of Pleasant Hill. After all, Julia's husband had been killed as result of running his car off a very dangerous curve located within the city limits. It wouldn't do for the town to appear insensitive--bad for business. 

On the other hand, Sheriff Carter was there officially to investigate a possible DUI-related death and was trying hard not to appear self-important. In contrast, Dr. Ben Walters, the director of the funeral parlor and County Coroner, was doing his best to sound pompously officious as he read the findings of his official Medical Examiner's Report.

"The deceased, John Edward Vernon, suffered a massive coronary while driving his motor vehicle. This led to loss of control of said vehicle, resulting in its going over the cliff at Lookout Point, the scenic overlook." Walters looked down his nose at Sheriff Carter. "Bill, I think you can rule this death as one from natural causes."

"Natural causes?" Sheriff Carter protested. "Now, Ben...what about the possibility of it being alcohol-related?" Walters gave Carter a meaningful look, and surreptitiously allowed his eyes to fall on Julia. Seeing Carter's blank look, Sam spoke up.

"Look Sheriff, what good would it do to stir up all that trouble for poor Mrs. Vernon here? You know that if Ben files a report stating that the cause was alcohol-related the insurance company will launch a separate investigation. If that happens, chances are that they'll probably decide not compensate Mrs. Vernon for her loss. D'you want *that* on your conscience?"

Although Sheriff Bill Carter was an adequate law enforcement officer, he was severely lacking in imagination. He gave careful thought to Sam's words, and after a moment's consideration decided he did not wish to be responsible for Mrs. Vernon's possible future penury. Nodding, he accepted on good-faith the altruistic concept behind Sam's words. Carter was basically a good man at heart, and the last thing he wanted was to cause the recent widow any undue grief. 

Turning to his deputies, he spoke a few words with them. Next, he stood in front of the widow, awkwardly holding his Smokey Bear hat in his beefy hands, and said apologetically, "M'am, I'm sure sorry about your loss. If there's anything I can do to help, please feel free to call my office." He turned to Walters. "Ben, me'n the boys, we gotta be heading on back. We have us an early start tomorrow on account of the Fall Festival kicking off at noon sharp. Is there anything else you and the rest of the Town Council needs?" 

"No, Bill...you and your boys go on ahead. Officially, we're done here."

Nodding stiffly, Sheriff Carter and his men walked out of the funeral parlor. Almost immediately, the 'mournful' widow lifted her veil and revealed a countenance devoid of tears or any other signs of grief. To Walters' dismay, she promptly lit a cigarette. 

"I'm glad that's over with," she muttered, exhaling a long stream of smoke.

"I'm sure that your husband is in a much better place," Erbina said ironically.

"Someplace very hot, I hope," Julia replied. She took a deep drag from her cigarette and followed with a double smoke stream from her nostrils. Grimacing, Anna Maria moved as far away from Julia as possible.

"Of that, Mrs. Vernon, you can be very sure," Walters promised. Then, before Julia could react, he smoothly plucked the cigarette from her hand with long-practiced ease and stubbed out the offending cigarette. 

"Hey!" Julia protested.

"Smoking inside public buildings is against city ordinance," Sam explained jovially. "We should know. We *passed* the ordinance." Looking at the others for confirmation, he added proudly, "Best piece of legislation ever passed by the city. Well, that and the anti-Rave bill. I mean...we *do* have to watch out for our youngsters' morals, don't we?"

While was speaking, Julia lit another cigarette, and at his question, blew smoke in his face. "Whatever," she muttered. 

Walters stepped forward and spoke authoritatively. "As of noon tomorrow, Mrs. Vernon, I guarantee that your wish will be granted. The earthly remains of the deceased will be cremated, and his ashes presented to you."

"*Noon* tomorrow? Hey, what *is* this--some kind of double-cross? Why do I have to wait until noon tomorrow for that louse to be cremated?" Julia complained. "I scheduled a hair appointment tomorrow afternoon with Andre, because I thought this whole business would be over, and I'd be back in Gotham."

"I've explained it before, Mrs. Vernon," Walters said a bit impatiently. "The state law requires that the remains be kept in storage for at least 24 hours prior to being returned to the custody of the family for burial or cremation."

Julia put her hand on her forehead as if to forestall a headache. "You people just murdered my husband--"

"Um...we don't like to use that word here," Sam interrupted. "'Murder,' I mean..." He looked at the others for confirmation. They each nodded in pious solemnity. "We, uh, prefer to think of it as 'services justly rendered'."

Julia rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Be that as it may," she said between clenched teeth, "I paid you handsomely for these so-called 'services justly rendered'--and now you're telling me I have to remain in this hick town over some technicality in the law?" 

"Mrs. Vernon." Erbina gently squeezed Julia's hand in order to draw her attention. "My dear, I'm afraid that on this point we must remain firm. Any deviation from proper procedure could result in a state investigator suddenly appearing at our doorstep. Now, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

"Do you have any idea how hard it is to reschedule an appointment with Andre?" Julia demanded. "He's booked *weeks* in advance! It's easier to schedule an orthodontist appointment than one with Andre!"

"And following our little services," Erbina continued, ignoring the interruption, "it's understood that our customers will 'lie low,' as they say, for a short period of time, in order to avoid calling attention to themselves."

Julia glared at Erbina, and then at each of the others in turn. Seeing that none of them would budge on the matter, she harrumphed in exasperation and stood. "Okay, tomorrow noon, it is." With that, Julia stubbed out her cigarette butt and walked out.

A look of speculation came over Erbina as she watched Julia leave. "Y'know, I'm beginning to wonder if maybe we didn't kill the wrong spouse." She glanced at the others, and at their sudden looks of discomfort, Erbina laughed in amusement. "I'm just kidding, folks! C'mon! Lighten up!"

The others looked away in momentary embarrassment, and then with slight hesitation, turned back. Clearing her throat a bit timidly, Anna Maria said softly, "Um? May I speak?" The others quieted down. Shyly, Anna Maria began, "We got a couple of hits last night."

"A *couple*!?" Walters protested. "No--! Absolutely not! Sam, Erbina, we *can't*! We haven't even disposed of the latest--!"

"Now, Ben," Sam interjected soothingly. "Let poor Anna Maria speak for minute."

"Yeah, Ben," Ray Edwards said, speaking up for the first time since he'd arrived. "You know a 'hit' doesn't mean that we're under any sort of obligation. It won't hurt just to listen."

"Sam and Ray are right, Ben." Erbina spoke with a certain air of finality that told everyone in the room the matter was closed. "Go on, Anna Maria."

Smiling a little nervously, Anna Maria began to read. "The first email comes from a woman who caught her husband with their son's eighteen-year-old girlfriend. She says that she's not so much upset with the fact that he cheated on her and has asked her for a divorce--she's already thrown him out of the house. It's the fact that now her son doesn't have a date for the prom, and she's afraid losing his girlfriend to his father has hurt his self-esteem. She signed it, 'Heartbroken and Betrayed in Midville.'" The others nodded in sympathetic understanding.

"How about the next one?" Erbina asked. Anna Maria shrugged as if confused.

"I'm not sure about this one, Erbina. The email says that the sender is interested in our 'Cheating Hearts' services, but doesn't trust the internet well enough to say anything else. The email then says that the sender wishes to contact us through other means and requests a face to face meeting."

"Absolutely not!" "That's crazy!" "Tell that creep to forget it--!" "No! Tell 'im nothing! It's better we ignore this thing altogether!"

"I tend to agree with Ben; it's *not* a good idea," Erbina said at last. "Anna Maria, file thirteen the second email. Whoever sent it will just have to find someone else help with their problem."

At their collective decision, Anna Maria looked stricken. Her shoulders slumped, she stood before them, head down. "I'm sorry guys, but it's already too late. I sent an automatic acknowledgement and promised to get back to the sender at the soonest."

****

The place was deserted, which meant that it was perfect time to snoop. Dinah walked through the Bed and Breakfast's gleaming kitchen and was immediately overwhelmed by an old familiar feeling of being lost. She knew that people prepared meals in kitchens, and she even recognized some major appliances--stove, refrigerator, and dishwasher--but to be truthful, she had almost no clue as to where anything might be stored.

She stood in the middle of room, surveying the unfamiliar layout. "Lots and lots of cabinets," she muttered, "and lots of drawers filled with stuff." Why didn't people label their cabinets, she wondered for the umpteenth time. This train of thought instantly reminded her of the Wayne Manor's immaculate kitchen--Alfred's private and quite mysterious domain. 

According to Alfred, Dinah's ineptitude in the kitchen pretty much equaled Bruce's, although Alfred gave her credit for at least knowing how to make coffee, an art that was apparently lost on his employer. 

Which brings me to the B-&-B's kitchen, she said to herself. I'm fairly certain that Vernon's coffee was poisoned, so...? After a few minutes' search, she finally found the coffee tin. A few more minutes turned up small, snack-sized plastic baggies. Quickly, she poured a spoonful of the grounds into a baggy. And, just to prove that she had what it took to be a detective, she remembered to write the date/time and location where she'd found it.

Of course, it was more likely that the coffee had been poisoned *after* it had been brewed and poured into the carafe. She'd drunk coffee that morning and was perfectly fine. What she needed, Dinah determined, was a sample from the carafe from which Vernon's cup had been poured.

She sighed. Of course, everything's been washed and put away already, she said to herself. Opening the dishwasher, Dinah stood for a moment in surprise. The breakfast dishes had still not been washed. There, in the midst of the glasses and cups, two carafes--one black, one white--waited to be washed.

"Bingo!"

Deciding that the black carafe and coffee sample were the best pieces of evidence she was going to discover for the moment, Dinah quickly wrapped them in a kitchen towel, and took them outside to her car. She was about to climb into the driver's seat when, on impulse, she walked over to where Vernon's car had been parked and went down in a crouch. 

Again, not entirely sure what she was looking for, she waited patiently in this position for a few moments. Finally, she saw it. A clear, maroon puddle caught the late afternoon sun, positioned exactly where it would've dripped from Vernon's engine. Tentatively, she dipped a fingertip into it and brought it up to her nose. Unsure, she took out a handkerchief and one of the clear baggies that she'd pilfered from the kitchen. Next, she dipped the handkerchief in the maroon liquid, and stuffed it into the baggy.

"I'll bet my canary cry that's brake fluid."

"Now that's what *I* would call a sure bet."

****

End of Part 5


	6. Part 6

Summary: Dinah matches wits with a town's strange denizens. 

Author's Note: See Part 1. Thanks to Char for her generous beta-reading.

Disclaimer: All characters (except the denizens of Pleasant Hill) belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright December 2003

****

Death Over Easy

By Syl Francis

****

The shadows were noticeably lengthening in the lower elevations. High up in the surrounding mountain peaks, the sun glinted off the ice caps with a burnished majesty. As Dinah drove through the quiet town, only half-registering the streetlights as they blinked on, she ruefully recalled her reaction to Bruce Wayne's unexpected appearance.... 

Dinah's initial relief at his arrival was instantly replaced by resentment against his seeming indifference to whether his assistance was welcomed or not.

"And just what brings you to *this* part of the world?" she asked. "I didn't think you Bat-types ventured out into the great outdoors." Ignoring her sarcasm, Bruce immediately took over the investigation. 

"What do you have so far?" His tone was sharp and precise. So what else is new? She grumbled silently. Crossing her arms defiantly, she glared up at him.

"Bruce, *why* are you here?" she demanded. "This is *my* case! I saw it first! You know--" she added crossly. "--Finder's keepers?" Rolling her eyes at her own childishness, she moaned aloud, "And I don't believe I just said that!" Blue-green eyes flashed dark green as they often did when she was especially angry. She added accusingly, "This is all *your* fault! I'm not like this! This isn't me! It's you! *You* make me crazy!"

Bruce leaned back against the car, his dark gaze holding her pinned in place. Not bothering to answer her question or respond to her petulance, he repeated, "What do you have?" The underlying menace in his tone would brook no nonsense. Sighing, she handed over her meager 'evidence.' 

As she explained each item, Bruce examined them closely, his eyes narrowed in intent concentration. "Anything else?" he asked. At the reluctant shake of her head, Bruce nodded. "In that case, this is what I want you to do."

Dinah's cheeks instantly flushed at this additional presumption on his part, but she just managed to bite back an angry retort. Smiling inwardly at her obvious annoyance, Bruce gave her his instructions and turned to leave, giving no outward indication of his amusement. She'd only accuse him of laughing at her expense. Before disappearing into the lengthening shadows, he admonished, "Keep your comlink turned on."

Making a face, she stuck out her tongue behind his back and gave him a mock salute. "Aye-aye, sir!" she snapped. At her words, Bruce turned and gave her his enigmatic half-smile, the one that usually melted the knees of every eligible woman within a five-mile radius, hers included.

"By the way...good work!" Flashing her a wink, he turned and seemed to evaporate from view. Stunned, she remained unmoving for several minutes long after he disappeared....

Her long, blonde hair whipping behind her as she drove, Dinah at last felt as if she'd recovered her composure. Shaking her head, she wryly chastised herself for being unable to control her resentment and obvious attraction for this obstinate, bull-headed, and most 'completely wrong for her' man!

"Keep your comlink open," she mimicked in a falsetto voice. "The better to eat you with, my dear," she added darkly. Now I know how Dick feels. And as for Barbara, my reputed friend? I have a few choice words for her when this case is over. Why didn't she *tell* me that she was going to bring the Big Bad Bat into the case--?

Her angry musings were interrupted by her comlink suddenly coming online. It was Oracle. "You have some 'splainin' to do, Lucy!" Dinah said without preamble. "He's here and I want to know why you failed to tell me he was coming."

"I'm sorry, Dinah," Barbara's voice was truly apologetic. "*I* didn't tell him about the murder. He saw it on TV--local breaking news coverage. Remember, the Vernons *are* from Gotham."

"Yes, but--"

"--And Bruce knows the Vernons. Or at least, he's known John Vernon since they were kids. Not best friends or anything like that, but they move in the same social circles. Bruce apparently respects Vernon's integrity as a businessman."

"Okay, but that still doesn't explain why he's here. I mean...the wife apparently had Vernon killed because he was cheating on her with his secretary and--"

"That's just it, Dinah. Bruce says Vernon couldn't have been having an affair with his secretary."

Dinah snorted in disbelief. "Couldn't? Why? Does she have two heads, or something?"

"Or something..." Barbara said.

"Or something what?" Dinah asked curious. 

"Dinah, Vernon's secretary is in her late sixties. She's worked for his family's firm since he was a baby."

Dinah took a moment to digest this information, and then shook her head in disbelief. "Look, Barb...maybe Vernon wasn't having an affair with his secretary, but *someone* called him this morning on the pretext of his returning to Gotham on business. Trace the call to his cell phone and you'll have the mistress."

"I did and I did."

"Huh?" Dinah asked confused. 

"I traced the call to his cell phone, and I found the 'mistress,'" Barbara answered patiently.

"And--?" Dinah demanded.

"And, the call came from his office. His secretary called him this morning on legitimate business. Apparently, Vernon is chairing a steering committee to raise funds for the Gotham Children's Hospital Burn Unit. Last year, his committee helped raise almost a hundred million for the hospital. Apparently, he was quite the philanthropist."

"Look, Barb," Dinah said, "for all I care, Vernon was Gotham's Citizen of the Year, but all you've been able to suggest so far is that he probably wasn't having an affair with his secretary. Speaking from experience, I can tell you that that doesn't mean he couldn't have been finding a little afternoon delight somewhere else."

"Correct," Barbara conceded.

"And besides," Dinah continued, "if he *wasn't* having affair, what other motive could his wife have for having him killed off?"

"Oh..." Barbara said blithely. "I think I can come up with about twenty million of them." 

"Oh." Not having a clever response, Dinah informed Barbara of the findings from her afternoon's investigation and of Bruce's orders. She left out the part about his killer smile and unexpected praise. Some things weren't meant to be shared, even with her best friend.

Seeing the bright lights of a gas station up ahead, Dinah hung up as she yielded to make a left turn. Waiting for traffic to clear, she reminded herself that having Batman onboard was actually a good thing. After all, he got to investigate the funeral parlor after hours--something she didn't entirely relish. Inexplicably, she shivered at what she knew Bruce was going to do. 

Dinah parked the Porsche in the service area and walked into the service station. Seth Carr, who reportedly had been having an affair with Sue Ann Walters, had owned the place prior to his untimely death. As she entered, the requisite bell-above-door tinkle announced her arrival. A middle-aged man sat behind the counter, reading a sports magazine. At her entrance, he put the magazine down and stood to greet her.

"Good evening," he said with a genial smile. "How may I help you?" A nametag sewn onto his coveralls identified him as 'Steve.'

"I'm not sure," Dinah said, assuming her best 'gum-chewing, dumb blonde' persona. She blew a bubble, popped it, and started chewing the gum again--quite obnoxiously. "My car...I don't know what's wrong with it. It was working perfectly fine this morning. But now, the heating unit has gone out, and the CD player has stopped working. Can you help me?"

"Depends...what kind of car is it?"

Dinah shrugged, and then said helpfully. "It's red. And it goes very fast." 

"I see. A sports car?" 

"Yeah...can you help me?"

Steve shook his head. "Sorry, we're not equipped here to handle anything like that. We're just a mom and pop operation."

"Oh..." Dinah feigned disappointment and slowly began to edge towards the door.

"But there's no reason why I couldn't take a little looksee," he quickly added. Following her to the car, Steve had her pop open the hood. A few minutes later, he beckoned her towards him. "Miss, I can't be exactly sure, but I think this is your problem." He held up a burnt fuse.

"What is it?" Dinah asked, wide-eyed. She already knew, of course, since she had put the bad fuse there herself.

"Burnt fuse," he explained succinctly. "Fortunately, we carry this type in our inventory. Let me check if we have any in stock." Dinah followed him back to the service parts department. 

"So, how long have you worked here?" she asked.

"I don't work here," Steve replied with a shrug. "I own the place. And before you ask--I've had it for almost four years."

"What made you decide to buy a gas station?" 

"Oh, I don't know..." He said, a pensive look coming over him. "One day I took a good look around and decided I didn't like what I was doing. Hell, I didn't even like the people I was forced to work with--arrogant, disrespectful, refusing to follow directions--"

"What did you do?" Dinah asked, curious in spite of herself. 

"School teacher," Steve said with a grin. Dinah laughed, beginning to warm to his easy personality.

"So, what made you give up such a 'rewarding' occupation?"

"In all fairness, I really did enjoy my job...and the kids," he admitted, "but I was getting close to retirement, and only the most frugal can survive on a teacher's pension. So...when the gas station was placed on the market, I put in a bid. Much to my surprise, I got it."

"Why was it for sale?" asked Dinah.

"The previous owner had just died, and his widow didn't feel up to the task of running it without him."

Dinah nodded. Obviously, Seth Carr's widow had not had the inner strength to continue the business without her husband, unlike Erbina Darcy and some of the others.

"Can't say I blame her," Dinah replied. "I can't imagine the pain accompanied by the loss of a loved one."

Steve shrugged. "You're probably right," he said. "But considering how Seth Carr and Sue Ann Walters were supposed to have been having an affair and all, I figure that Adele Carr was probably just happy to wash her hands of it."

"Oh?" 

"It's funny, though, how she keeps him with her," Steve said cryptically.

"Excuse me?"

"Seth's ashes. After his death, she had him cremated. Now, she keeps his ashes right in her living room. Weird."

"Why do you think it's weird?" 

"Are you kidding? Look, I don't like to speak ill of the dead, but the bum was cheating on her! I know Adele...she's a nice lady and not too bad looking. She didn't deserve to be treated like that. But now? Now, she's practically set up a shrine to his memory right there in her house. What's wrong with *this* picture?"

"You're right. That *is* weird," Dinah agreed. She was about to leave when she paused at the door. "One more question...by any chance does Adele know anything about auto-mechanics?"

Steve pondered the question. "Not that I know of," he said, mulling it over, "but that doesn't mean she didn't pick something up while she was married to Seth." Dinah held his gaze for a moment, and at last, smiled.

"Thanks!"

****

Sighing in frustration, Barbara typed in a new string of alphanumeric symbols. "Come on...come on..." she muttered. "Show me what you've got..." Speaking under her breath, Barbara continued her relentless database search. "How are they doing it?" she murmured. "How are they getting their clients?"

At that moment, a new link popped up on her screen. Meticulously, she began to trace its origin. After what seemed liked hours of assiduously following the electronic trail, her efforts were abruptly frustrated somewhere in Sri Lanka when an icon of a cartoon clown suddenly appeared on her screen. 

The clown pointed derisively at her, and his whole body shaking, he hid his face behind his over-sized hands, laughing uncontrollably. Abruptly, the cartoon clown turned its back to her, and to Barbara's deep vexation, it dropped its baggy trousers and mooned her. 

"Oh, yeah...?" Barbara spluttered. "Well, we'll see who'll have the last laugh, buddy--" The next instant, her screen blacked out, came back for a brief second, then blinked out again.

Slamming both hands on the desktop, Barbara uttered an oath for which her dad would have washed her mouth out with soap.

"Okay, my laughing friend--!" she rasped between clenched teeth. "You know--" She typed rapidly, her fingers punctuating her words. "--of course--" Her fingers flew across her board. "That this--" Type-search-type. "Means. War!" Typing rapidly, Barbara felt suddenly galvanized. It had been a while since her considerable cyber skills had actually been challenged. Whoever this Webmaster that was leading her on a wild goose chase was, he or she was obviously a professional. 

"But that's quite all right with me," she said, her jaw set in a determined line. "A professional only takes a little longer, but in the end--" She stopped. Eyes glinting in triumph, her normally beautiful mouth formed a deadly grin. "--But in the end, they all reveal their dirty, little cyber secrets to me."

Sitting back in her wheel chair, Barbara waited impatiently as the graphics-heavy web site slowly began loading. At last, the homepage was completely on screen. Shaking her head at the title, Barbara read it out loud: 

"Broken Hearts Club (dot) com. For the lonely, betrayed, and broken hearted. Have you caught your spouse cheating on you? Is your spouse of 25 or more years about to divorce you for a twenty-something baby doll? If so, join us online, February 14th. Share your experiences with a member of our highly trained professional staff. Broken Hearts Club provides its carefully screened clients with a much-needed, discreet service unequaled anywhere. 

"Visit us now and find out more about us!"

A link just below added: See what some of our other satisfied customers have to say.

"This is unbelievable," Barbara said with a shake of her head. "A web site constructed for the sole purpose of soliciting clients who wish to have their respective spouses killed." Taking a deep breath, she clicked on the link and quickly read through the few anonymous comments.

~He had it coming. When we met, he told me he was single. We started dating, and were soon married. He was a truck driver and spent almost six months out of the year on the road. But I was blissfully happy. Until I learned the truth. Single?! Like Hell! Not only was he married--he had three wives! He explained that he was a Mormon (yeah, right) and believed in the Old Testament's teachings of multiple wives. Well, I cried until I couldn't cry anymore. I was going to divorce him, of course, but then, I heard about Broken Hearts Club.com through an online friend. 

~I immediately contacted them, and the staff couldn't have been more helpful. They made all the arrangements. My soon-to-be-late husband and I went on a 'second honeymoon' in order to work out our differences. We stayed at a lovely Bed and Breakfast--antique furnishings, king-sized bed, downy comforters, and complimentary breakfast. And it was at breakfast that we were able to finally 'work out' our problems. I poured him a steaming cup of 'almond-flavored' coffee, and before I knew it, I was dumping his sorry, polygamist ashes over Lake Michigan. I guess some men just can't hold their cyanide!--signed, the Shrike~ 

"Ouch!" Barbara winced. "Kind of an extreme way to work out your differences." Shrugging, she read the rest of the testimonials. Most read along the same vein of sardonic bitterness, and surprisingly, they each agreed on certain facts: the 'wronged spouse' arranged to stay overnight at a 'lovely bed and breakfast' that offered several wonderful amenities, not the least of which was a complimentary breakfast.

"And apparently, the breakfast comes with cyanide-laced coffee. Death served over easy." Barbara sighed and sat back. So far all the clues were falling in place with what Dinah had already discovered. Now it was Barbara's turn to do a little sleuthing. First, she had to trace the Webmaster, and then find the Broken Hearts Club client list. Hopefully, from there, she'd be able to give a name to each of the victims.

"There's still the problem of the cyanide-laced coffee, though. Cyanide usually causes instant death. Most of the victims died several hours after the fact. The Broken Hearts Club must be using some kind of synthetic derivative..."

A few hours later, Barbara let out a long breath. Four years was a long time for planning and executing serial murder. After the initial murders in Pleasant Hill, the Broken Hearts' Club's "service with a deadly smile" was discreetly launched. 

The first victim was a middle-aged husband, Sam Sawyer, who was staying at the Bed and Breakfast with his wife, Agnes. Apparently, Agnes Sawyer had made all the arrangements for a long weekend stay, a second honeymoon. Unfortunately for Sam Sawyer who had been having an affair with a waitress from a diner he frequented, his stay was cut short when he suddenly ended up dead. 

The grieving widow ended up with a half-million dollar life insurance policy. And in one of life's little ironies, Barbara noted, Agnes Sawyer had the added pleasure of henceforth taking her lunch at the aforementioned diner, while being served by her husband's former lover. No doubt leaving a lousy tip, Barbara added silently.

Further research showed a wire transfer from Agnes's bank account prior to her stay at the Bed and Breakfast to a secret overseas account. The amount transferred was ten thousand dollars, an exorbitant amount for a housewife with no independent means. Soon after her husband's death, an additional forty thousand was transferred to the same unknown overseas account. 

"Sounds like a very expensive weekend, Mrs. Sawyer," Barbara murmured. Noting that Sam Sawyer's remains were cremated within forty-eight hours of his death, Barbara added, "And it would seem that the price of cremation is even included in the cost." Chewing her bottom lip, Barbara said musingly, "I wonder if they offer special discounts on coupon Wednesday like they do at the local supermarket?"

****

End of Part 6


	7. Part 7

Summary: Dinah matches wits with a town's strange denizens. 

Author's Note: See Part 1. Thanks to Char for her generous beta-reading.

Disclaimer: All characters (except the denizens of Pleasant Hill) belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2004

****

Death Over Easy

By Syl Francis

****

Dinah pulled in front of a white colonial with black shutters and neat front lawn. An old-fashioned, carriage-style lantern that had seen better days stood on a pole in the yard. A single bulb cast a doubtful circle of yellowish light around it. Her eyes traveling upward, Dinah spotted a dim light from an upstairs window. The light flickered unsteadily as if from a candle; the rest of the house sat in total darkness.

Overall, the silent house seemed shrouded in a pall of gloom. Taking a deep breath, Dinah climbed out of the Porsche and momentarily studied the modest house.

According to Barbara, after her husband's death, Adele Carr inherited not only the gas station--which she subsequently sold at less than market value--she also inherited this house, a 50 thousand dollar life insurance policy, and some investments. All told, the money she'd made after her husband's death was enough to allow her to live modestly, even comfortably, but certainly not extravagantly. 

What's more, in the past eighteen months or so, Adele Carr had become a bit of a recluse, rarely emerging from her house. She apparently did all of her shopping online, and necessities were delivered directly to her home, including groceries.

Dinah shook her head. Doesn't sound like the happily vindictive black widow who had her husband murdered, she mused. Shrugging thoughtfully, Dinah climbed the front stoop and rang the doorbell. She faintly heard the tinkling sound of the bell somewhere inside the still house.

After waiting for what she considered an appropriate amount of time, Dinah again pressed the ringer. This also failed to elicit any kind of response. Scowling slightly, Dinah next knocked on the door. 

Again, no results. 

Dinah sighed, but refrained from simply kicking in the front door. In the end, a steady combination of knocking--or rather, *pounding*--on the door and keeping her forefinger pressed on the ringer, brought an angry shout from within.

"For heaven's sake--! Leave me alone! I've warned you kids already! If you don't leave me alone, I'm calling the police! D'you hear?"

"Mrs. Carr!" Dinah called. "I'm Dinah Lance. I'd like to talk to you. Please, m'am. This isn't a prank." There was a long silence from the other side. Dinah was about to knock again, when she heard the distinct sound of a sliding deadbolt. Not realizing she was holding her breath, Dinah waited anxiously for the door to open.

At last, it opened just a crack.

"Wha--? What do you want?" a tremulous voice asked softly.

"Mrs. Carr?" Dinah spoke tentatively. "Mrs. Adele Carr?"

"Yes." The response was the barest whisper.

"May I come in?" Dinah asked, making her voice as pleasantly non-threatening as possible.

"Why?" A note of suspicion crept suddenly into the soft voice.

"I need to talk to you, Mrs. Carr," Dinah said matter-of-factly. 

"What about?"

Taking a chance, Dinah merely said, "I think you already know." There was a lengthy pause from the other side, but at long last, the initial crack began to widen, until there was enough room to walk through. As she entered, Dinah caught the faintest whiff of melted wax. Standing in the entranceway, she blinked against the oppressive gloom, her eyes attempting to adjust to the murkiness. Before she could say anything, however, she heard the distinct sound of a striking match. Within an instant, the smell of burning wax soon filled the room as a dim candle tucked away in a dusty corner flickered to life. 

The muted illumination barely gave enough light for Dinah to make out the misshapen shadows that seemed to lie in wait for her. Momentarily, her eyes adjusted to the weak light, and Dinah spotted what was by now a very familiar object--an elaborate urn centered on the fireplace mantle. Picking up the candle, Dinah walked up to the mantle and inspected the urn. 

The workmanship was magnificent, she admitted. Made entirely of pewter, the urn boasted exquisite handles in the shape of angels playing a harp, while the body of the container depicted scenes in detailed bas-relief from the Garden of Eden. Dinah raised a single eyebrow at the figures of Adam and Eve taking a bite from the apple. The symbolism of the Fall of Man wasn't lost on her.

Scattered around the room were a number of burnt out votive candles of various sizes, the wax apparently long since used up. Above the mantle, a portrait of a suffering Jesus looked down upon the urn in profound sorrow. Additionally, Dinah spotted a simple rosary draped from the urn. Fingering its beads, she wondered whether the shrine-like altar was an offering of contrition from Adele Carr, an act of atonement for her sins.

Out of the corner of her eye, Dinah caught the briefest glance of a hunched over shadow shuffling through yet another darkened doorway. Her senses alert, she quickly followed quickly in the shadow's wake, and crossed into the adjoining room. 

The kitchen, she realized. 

A candle next to the kitchen sink flickered on, and in the brief brightness before finally settling into an unsteady flame, Dinah clearly saw a hunched over figure in a faded pink robe leaning over the sink, holding a small pot under the running faucet.

Not speaking, Dinah crossed over to a small table and sat down. She waited patiently while her host puttered around the tiny kitchen, placing what appeared to be an old-fashioned teapot on a burner, opening and closing a pantry, setting up cups and saucers on a tray, apparently doing anything to put off the inevitable.

Dinah didn't offer any protest. In her eyes, Adele Carr simply did not look entirely stable. Better for the lady to settle her nerves by preparing tea, Dinah figured, than for me to confront her with a bunch of questions that will only serve to agitate her. 

At long last, however, the tea was ready, and Adele simply had no choice but to carry the tray to the table. Without asking, Dinah poured herself a steaming cup of tea--Earl Grey, she noted--and took a bite from a butter cookie. After sipping and eating for a few minutes, Dinah finally began.

"You know why I'm here, don't you, Mrs. Carr?"

Adele Carr simply nodded.

"Things will go easier if you just tell me what really happened to your husband." Dinah spoke as gently as possible. Adele Carr nodded again, and then, needing no further prodding from Dinah, began her story...

****

The dark shadow moved with a stealth borne of experience. He should have felt at home in this place of death, he thought. After all, he'd seen so much of it in his lifetime. But thoughts of Dinah's flummoxed look of outrage only served to soften his stern features. In the protection of the night, he allowed himself a brief smile. The next instant it was gone, replaced by a grim set to his hard jaw. 

She really needs to learn to keep from openly transmitting her emotions, he thought, annoyed with her. But then, she wouldn't be Dinah Lance, he added, annoyed with himself.

Batman went down a flight of stairs to the cold storage room. Here, the remains that were not to be prepared for public viewing were kept until final arrangements could be made. And, as John Vernon's final arrangements were a fait accompli, Batman worked on the body in a fast and efficient manner.

First, taking a hair sample from Vernon's head, and then a tissue sample from the back of his knee, Batman felt strangely apologetic. He'd known Vernon since they were boys. Vernon was a few years ahead of him in school, but Bruce remembered him as a nice, friendly boy who usually had a smile for everyone. 

Batman shook his head. "Now's not the time for sentimentality," he growled. Reaching into his utility belt, Batman took out the components for a field lab. As he ran the samples through, his thoughts went back to John Vernon the man.

Vernon's generosity was well known in Gotham City through his philanthropic work for children's charities. He was highly respected by his business associates and well liked in his social circle. In contrast, the story on his beautiful wife, Julia Vernon, was less than flattering. Many saw her as little more than a grasping social climber, a gold digger who'd married strictly for money and the prestige it might bring her.

Bruce had met her on a few occasions and hadn't liked what he'd seen. Quite accustomed to women--married and unmarried alike--making sexual overtures in his direction, Bruce took every precaution to avoid being alone in the same room with predatory, married women. 

But Julia was a special case. Although in public she played the socialite hostess to the hilt, joining several charitable committees, and hosting several charity functions, if one were to listen to the gossip, Julia Vernon was a real man-hunting barracuda that was quickly becoming a social pariah.

Of course, Bruce didn't listen to gossip; he only viewed the cold facts. And the cold facts were that Julia Vernon had tried to seduce him one evening during a dinner party at her home. While her husband and another guest had temporarily stepped outside to the balcony for a cigar, Julia had made it absolutely clear to Bruce that her Tuesday afternoons were always free. 

The hungry look in her eyes told Bruce exactly what her Tuesdays were free for. Giving her his best vacuously empty playboy smile, Bruce thanked her profusely and quickly stepped out for a cigar as well. The fact that he didn't smoke wasn't lost on Julia. Afterwards, every time they met socially, she gave him a chilling look that rivaled Mr. Freeze's cold gun.

And now John Vernon was dead, and Julia was slated to inherit several million.

Looking at Vernon's still, cold face, Batman vowed, "Not if I have any say in it." Closely examining the results of the field test, his eyes narrowed, and he felt a sudden, burning anger somewhere deep inside.

**** 

"...So what you're saying is that you have several people whose extended stay at the Bed and Breakfast was suddenly cut short when they unfortunately died." Dinah kept her eyes on the dark, curving roads as she spoke. The night had suddenly turned treacherous as an icy rain began to fall.

"Yes," Barbara replied.

"But you have no direct proof that any of the money in question went to our suspects?"

"Not yet," Barbara admitted. "The money trail has been expertly covered up. I trace it to an overseas account and then it disappears. I haven't been able to track it to its final destination."

"Girlfriend, you don't need to be a computer whiz to do that!" Dinah said smugly. "Sometimes, just talking to real people can get you some pretty good results."

"Oh?" 

"Not to mention running an analysis on tissue samples from the recently deceased," a grim voice broke in. At the unexpected interruption, Dinah suddenly swerved over the icy roads, almost losing control of the car.

"Don't *do* that!" she complained. 

"Do what?"

"Scare people half out of their wits and almost cause them to end up at the bottom of a very deep gorge!" 

"You need to concentrate on your driving and ignore distractions--"

"Will you two stop acting like kids and tell me what you've found out?" Barbara snapped.

"*He* started it!" Dinah whined. And then added under her breath, "Showing up when no one asked for his so-called help."

"I *heard* that." 

Barbara sighed. Working with Batman and Black Canary as individuals was challenging enough. Working with Batman and Black Canary as a 'team' was next to impossible. Their personalities were a volatile mixture that usually ended up in fireworks. This case was no exception.

Pushing her glasses up, Barbara closed her eyes and tiredly squeezed the bridge of her nose. Listening to the ongoing childish litany, she shook her head. Where was Alfred when she needed him? She went suddenly still and abruptly shook her head.

"Barbara Gordon, you are out of your *freaking* mind!" Even as she spoke, she reached for the phone, and a devilish glint lighting her eyes, she dialed...

****

End of Part 7


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary**: Dinah matches wits with a town's strange denizens.

**Author's Note**: Admittedly seven years is probably a bit long in waiting for an update from a story. And most of you who started reading this probably long forgot what it was about. Well…I did, too. I re-read it a couple days ago and decided to give it another shot. It hasn't been beta'd, so there will be mistakes, but I tried to catch most of them.

**Disclaimer**: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

**Copyright** December 2003/March 2012 (Okay, that's embarrassing):)

~ / ~ / ~ /~

Death Over Easy

By Syl Francis

~ / ~ / ~ /~

"That was a low blow, Barb," Dinah grumbled.

"You two were being impossibly childish," Barbara said defensively. "Who better than Alfred to referee?"

"Personally, it smacks of telling tales out of school," Bruce growled. "Who's being childish now?"

Recalling the urbane Englishman's no nonsense verbal 'spanking' of the two, Barbara sighed. "Okay...maybe it _**was**_ a little over the top-"

"A _**little**_?" Dinah sniffed.

"-But you have to admit, he brought you both back in line pretty quick."

"Yeah, well..._**I**_ wasn't doing anything that required being 'brought back' in line," Bruce grumbled. "Although, I have to agree with Dinah-calling in Alfred was a pretty low blow."

"And _**I**_ wasn't doing anything wrong either," Dinah said somewhat primly. "Plus, I must agree with Bruce-tattling to 'teacher' was definitely _**way**_ more childish than anything we did."

Barbara rolled her eyes. Great! The 'Dysfunctional Duo' was finally in agreement over _**something**_ for a change, but unfortunately, it was to gang up against her! "There's no winning for losing around here," she muttered.

"What's that?" Dinah asked.

"I didn't catch that," Bruce added.

"I said I need a raise," Barbara snapped. "Now, if you two are quite done with your whining-"

"Whining?" Bruce and Dinah protested simultaneously.

"-How about we get back to the case?" Barbara said, ignoring the interruption. "And before you say anything else out of line, just remember...Alfred is only a phone call away. And I don't think he'll appreciate being awakened a _**second**_ time tonight."

"...!" There was a momentary silence over the comlink. Finally, a small, contrite voice—Dinah's—spoke hesitantly, "Um...what would you like to know?"

~ / ~ / ~ /~

The next morning dawned clear and sunny. The previous evening's snow covered the grounds surrounding the Bed and Breakfast in a soft, pristine blanket. A flutter among the snow-dappled pine trees that bordered the property caught Dinah's eye. A red cardinal suddenly flew out in a splash of brilliant color. It looked like a scene from a Christmas card. Still, the peace and quiet of the Christmas season was currently the furthest thing from her mind.

"I can't believe you're making me do this!" Dinah complained. "Bruce, why can't you pretend to be my philandering husband? Who's gonna believe that Dick and I are married? I mean…who am I supposed to be? Gotham's answer to Mrs. Robinson?"

"I already told you…John Vernon and I were friends. Julia knows me," Bruce explained impatiently. _And she's tried enough times to get to know me even better_, he added to himself.

"And besides…" Barbara interjected. "You're the one who said it would be too _**creepy**_ if we called Roy in to play the part—"

"Well, d'uh! What do you expect? I mean the kid's practically my step-son—"

"Step-son?" Bruce replied disapprovingly.

"Hey, Roy's not responsible for Ollie's behavior," Dinah protested, defending the young man she'd helped raise. And was that a tinge if jealousy she heard in the Dark Knight's voice? Good…served him right.

"Focus, people…focus!" Barbara interrupted.

"Um, guys…" A new voice tentatively broke in. "I think B.C.'s right…no one's gonna believe for a minute that she and I are…y'know, married and all."

"Dick, don't worry," Barbara said. "You'll do fine."

"But, you guys don't understand! I've met Julia Vernon a couple times!"

When?" Bruce asked.

"At one of those really boring parties at the Manor. She was—aggressive—I guess you could say." Dick paused, sounding extremely uncomfortable.

"What do you mean, Dick?" Bruce asked his voice becoming dangerously quiet.

"She cornered me in the study and basically came on to me," Dick admitted. "I was almost sixteen at the time…And I did what I could to get away from her, but like I said…she was pretty aggressive. If Alfred hadn't come in when he did…"

"And you and Alfred didn't tell me?" The Bat tone was unmistakable.

"Look…what would've been the point? It was over. And don't blame Alfred! Julia said she'd cry '_Attempted rape_' or some other nonsense if I said anything. I knew you'd never believe her, but she said her husband could cause a lot of trouble for you. Anyway…you and I had a whole weekend planned—y'know just us two. I didn't want to ruin that."

Dick reflected on how infrequent such weekends had become by then. With everything that happened afterward between them—Robin being fired; then replaced, not once but twice; getting kicked out of the Manor—those times together became precious memories that kept Dick sane during the years of turbulence that followed. What was an inappropriate pass by a woman twice his age at the time in comparison?

"Anyway…" Dick added with a sigh. "Alfred made sure that I always had an excuse to be gone whenever Julia Vernon appeared on any future guest lists."

The silence on the other end continued for a moment longer. "We'll talk about this later."

"Looking forward to it," Dick muttered.

"So, it's been what? Five…six years since you had any kind of face-to-face contact with her?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah…about that."

"I don't know…" Barbara said. "It might be a bit risky. What _**do**_ you think, Bruce?"

"I think that there's enough of a difference between Dick at almost sixteen and Dick today. He's grown taller, filled out more…lost his baby fat."

"Amen to that," Barbara murmured.

"Aw come on, guys! _**He**_ can hear you!" Dick said, annoyed.

"And I think that between the two of us, we can make just enough changes to his appearance so that only someone who really knows him would be able recognize him," Bruce continued, ignoring the interruptions. "You do have the make-up kit with you, don't you?"

"Yeah, but c'mon, Bruce…make-up?" Dick protested. "And seriously…me and B.C. will have to register at the B & B as man and wife? I mean…share the same room and all? Roy's gonna kill me." This last was uttered in a small, whiney voice.

Dinah and Barbara laughed out loud.

"Don't worry, Hunk Wonder," Dinah teased. "I won't let Roy hurt you—much."

"What's your ETA, Nightwing?" Batman's no-nonsense voice cut in. Bruce Wayne had been replaced by the Dark Knight for now. Besides, it put an end to the ladies' obvious fun at his son's discomfort.

"Forty minutes."

"Good. Meet me at the rendezvous; we'll work on your disguise there. Barbara, continue following the money trail…I want those accounts! And Dinah, you know what to do. When Dick arrives—"

"I know, I know…play the part of the much put-upon wife of a several years younger, boy-toy husband—great eye-candy, but not much else going for him."

"Hey!" Dick protested.

Dinah laughed good-naturedly. "Chill, Nightwing. We all know that there's a real brain behind that nicely filled-out body suit of yours. Besides…I already saw you naked in the shower, remember? If Roy hasn't killed you yet for that little faux pas—"

The rest of the conversation pretty much exploded simultaneously over the comlink:

"That wasn't my fault! _**You're**_ the one who walked in on me, remember?"

"Naked in the shower?" Barbara—threateningly.

"How could I forget?" Dinah—good-naturedly.

"When did you-?" Daddy-Bats mode.

"Um…this is Nightwing…going to radio silence." No one could ever say that a kid raised by the Bat didn't know how to pull a disappearing act.

"Whoops! Gotta go and plan a murder!" Dinah's sparkling laughter echoed in the resounding silence.

"I may just have to commit murder myself," Barbara muttered.

_And I may just help you hide the bodies_, Bruce added silently.

~ / ~ / ~ /~

Hours later, the setting sun painted the western sky in a dazzling display of violet, orange, and red. The lengthening shadows and dropping temperatures further indicated that yet another day in Pleasantville was fast coming to an end. The stillness of the late evening was suddenly shattered by the roar of a high-performance engine, and the growing darkness was pierced with the bright glow of halogen headlights.

A black Jaguar soon made an appearance around the blind curve heading toward town. Not bothering to slow down by much, the driver recklessly made a left turn and pulled into the Bed and Breakfast's small parking lot. A handsome young man climbed out, adjusted his dark glasses, and took a moment to take in his surroundings. Locking the jag, he made his way to the front entrance.

Erbina looked up as the bell over the front door jingled, announcing a visitor. Putting on her best welcoming smile, she waited politely for the young man to approach the front desk.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"Yeah…I'm looking for my wife. I heard she was staying here for the weekend." He gave her his best smile. "Thought I'd drop in and surprise her."

"Oh? And you are—?"

"Drake…Richard Drake. My wife, Dinah Drake, said she was staying here for the weekend."

Erbina studied the young man carefully. Dinah Drake was an admittedly beautiful woman. And, from the brief encounters that Erbina had had with her, she had also seemed quite a lovely person.

The young man standing before her was exceedingly handsome, perhaps too much so. He was also much too young for the somewhat older Ms. Drake. Also, he carried himself with an arrogance that set off Erbina's _Early Warning Cheaters Radar_.

After an uncomfortably long moment, Erbina concluded that "Richard Drake" was lying through his teeth. The only reason someone who looked like him could be here at her B&B to meet Ms. Drake was for a lovers' tryst.

She chuckled ironically. Were _**they**_ in for a surprise.

Smiling, Erbina directed him to the dining room. This was going to be fun—a two-fer at no cost to Ms. Drake's absent significant other.

"Oh, no," Erbina murmured, as she watched the young man disappear into the dining room. "This one is on the house."

~ / ~ / ~ /~

"Bingo!" Barbara cried out excitedly. "I've got you now!" She quickly opened the Batcomlink. "Oracle to Batman. Come in."

"Go ahead, Oracle."

"I've managed to trace the money trail. From the Swiss account, it goes to several dummy accounts overseas, but guess what? The chickens all come home to roost." She said the last rather gleefully.

"Explain."

"The money has been disbursed evenly among three U.S. banks—Bank of Metropolis, Gotham Alliance Bank, and Bludhaven Federal Savings Bank. No deposits greater than $5,000 dollars have ever been made, and generally there has been a wait from 24-48 hours between deposits. Small withdrawals in amounts less than $3,000 dollars have been made regularly from all three accounts."

"Good job, Oracle," Batman said. "Do we know to whom the accounts belong?"

"You won't believe this…the major account holder is The Broken Hearts Club."

"You're kidding. It can't be that easy," Batman protested.

"Oh, it gets better," Oracle said. "The withdrawals in question coincide with regular deposits in the National Bank of Pleasantville in the accounts of the following people—"

"Let me guess: Erbina Darcy, Sam Peters, and Dr. Benjamin Walters."

"Go to the head of the class," Oracle acknowledged. "There have also been deposits in smaller amounts made to the accounts of Anna Marie Messina, Ray Edwards, and Adele Carr. Oh…Adele Carr's deposits stopped about three years ago…and guess what?" She snorted, whether in amusement or disgust was hard to tell. "The money that should've been deposited in her account somehow found it's way to the bank president's personal account."

"So, we have proof of international money laundering, murder for hire, and conspiracy to commit said illegal acts…all federal crimes. Oracle, why don't you contact Gordon and give him our findings? He can pass it on to the Feds. Meanwhile…I'm pulling the plug on our reluctant _lovebirds_. With everything you've dug up, Adele Carr's testimony, and the physical evidence from John Vernon's body, we won't need Dinah and Dick to go through with their nuptials, after all."

"You just don't want them to share the same room, admit it," Barbara teased.

"Do you?"

"Like you said…pull the plug."

~ / ~ / ~ /~

Upon entering the dining room, Dick immediately spotted Dinah. It wasn't too difficult. She was easily the most stunning woman in the place. Plus, the room was relatively empty, with only three other couples enjoying a quiet, candlelit dinner. He took a moment to study the diners, wondering if any were there for less than innocent reasons.

There was no sign of Julia Vernon, for which he was quietly grateful. He never would have said it out loud, but the incident in the study all those years ago had bothered him for several weeks afterward. He'd wondered if he had done anything to instigate the action; whether, his body language had led her on.

Of course, he knew now that Julia was a predator, one who only looked after herself and pursued her own selfish desires. He felt somewhat guilty that he hadn't spoken up at the time. If he had, would her husband have left her? Would he be alive today? Was he indirectly responsible for John Vernon's murder?

Sighing, he gave himself a mental headshake. Julia Vernon was responsible for her husband's death—she and her little group of murder-for-hire co-conspirators. Still, this gave him extra incentive to bring her to justice.

Putting on his game face, he headed toward Dinah's table. Approaching her from behind, he placed his hands on her shoulders and bent down, giving her a peck on the cheek.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said affectionately. "Surprise." Sitting down next to her, Dick gave her a bright smile. "Don't be upset with me, Dinah. I know you said you wanted some space, but I just couldn't bear being away from you for a whole weekend." He punctuated his plea with an adorable kicked puppy look.

Despite herself, Dinah found herself responding to his expressions. She wondered how Bruce, Alfred, and Barbara could ever be immune to it. Shaking herself, she gave him an exasperated look.

"Honestly, Richard…all I wanted was a weekend to myself. To think. About us."

"What about us?" he asked. Taking her hand, he gave a lady her his killer smile. Simultaneously, he caught the eye of a woman across the room and winked at her. To his amusement, the woman blushed furiously and knocked over her drink on her dinner companion.

Dinah saw this little by-play as well and gave him a knowing look. Leaning in, she whispered in his ear, "You are so bad. Better not let Barbara catch you doing that."

"Hey, I'm supposed to be a player, right? Well…just playing the part." Leaning back, Dick looked at Dinah admiringly. "Come on, darling…say you forgive me? Please?"

Dinah laughed, her sparkling laugh pealing across the room. "Okay, you win. You're forgiven."

"Great! How about some dessert?" Dick waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Careful…I hear the pie a la mode here is to die for."

"Really…? I was thinking of something a little more tasty." His voice dropped. "If you know what I mean."

"I think that can be arranged. Would you like to take your dessert back to the room?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Dick immediately stood and held his out hand to her. "Care to accompany me, Mrs. Drake?"

"It would be my pleasure, Mr. Drake." Dinah said, taking his hand. She was about to stand, when Erbina made a sudden appearance, carrying a tray filled with desserts.

"Ladies and gentlemen…in honor of Darcy's B&B hiring a new pastry chef, we have complimentary dessert for everyone tonight!" A smattering of applause accompanied her announcement. "Tonight's chef special is double chocolate cake, topped with fresh strawberries, and drizzled with our chef's own secret chocolate syrup." Erbina looked at Dinah and Dick, noticing that they were about to leave. "Oh, please…say you'll join us in our little chocolate celebration."

Dinah and Dick looked at each other and immediately retook their seats. "How could we pass up such an opportunity?" Dinah asked. "It would be practically un-American."

They each accepted a single serving of dessert and thanked Erbina for her generosity. As Dick was about to take a bite if his cake, his cell phone rang. It was Bruce.

"Hey, Big Guy…" Dick said by way of hello. "What's up?"

"Scrub the mission. Oracle was able to find the money trail. The Feds have already been contacted. I want you and Dinah to leave now."

"I guess this means no dessert, huh?"

"What?" the Bat's dangerous tone came through loud and clear.

"I mean _dessert_ dessert…as in the double chocolate cake variety—would you get your head out of the gutter? Apparently, the B&B just hired a new pastry chef, and I guess they're celebrating by serving complimentary dessert tonight."

There was a slightly longer pause at the other end. Dick knew that Bruce was probably listening to Barbara.

"The B&B didn't hire a pastry chef," Bruce said without preamble. "They get all their special pastries from a local bakery—Sunny Skies Sugar Shop."

"Oh." The message sank in. Dick's eyes widened when he saw that Dinah was about to take an extra large bite of her dessert. "No!" he yelled, knocking the fork out of her hand. He jumped to his feet and vaulted to the top of the table. "Everybody freeze!"

Dick pulled out his Bludhaven Police badge. The same woman that he had winked at earlier looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. Her fork hung frozen a few inches from her mouth.

"I'm sorry, ma'm, but I'm gonna have to ask you to step away from the dessert. That goes for all of you."

"What's going on, Officer?" one of the male diners asked timidly. "You're scaring my wife."

Right…he didn't want to scare the public. _You're dessert is possibly poisoned_ would probably cause panic. He thought quickly. "It's, um, come to our attention that the flour used in the baking of this cake had an expired lot number." _I can't believe I just said that_, he thought. _Oh, well, too late to change the story_. "The State Department of Health is going to look into it immediately. For your own safety…please, do not eat any of the cake."

Finally understanding, Dinah added, "Please…has anyone eaten any of the cake? Even just a small bite?" She sighed in relief when they all shook their heads. "We need all of you to return to your rooms or go home. But before you do, please leave your names and a number where you can be reached with Officer Grayson. Thank you."

"I think it's time we talk to Erbina, don't you?" Dick asked wryly.

~ / ~ / ~ /~

A week later, the four friends were enjoying breakfast al fresco at Wayne Manor. They were seated, relaxed in the poolside dining table.

"I told you no one would ever believe that Dinah and I were married!" Dick gave Bruce a withering look. It wasn't very effective as he had a smidgen of maple syrup on is chin. Unable to help himself, Bruce reached across the table with his napkin and wiped off the errant drop of syrup. He gave his son an amused half-smile.

Dinah and Barbara had stepped away to the Ladies Room, and World's Greatest (and Second Greatest) Detectives or not, neither wanted to attempt solving the mystery of women traveling in packs to the one place on the planet that was off limits to all men. Some things were better left alone.

"I mean, just look at her Bruce," Dick continued, shrugging. "A classy lady like Dinah…what would ever she see in a circus kid like me? People would always wonder." Taking a bite from his chocolate chip pancakes, he looked askance at his adoptive father. "You, on the other hand..." He grinned suggestively.

"First off, whatever your roots any woman should be proud to have you. If she isn't…then she isn't worth your time. Secondly, it wasn't your disguise that didn't work, chum," Bruce said with a smile. Dick returned the smile, warmed by the old nickname. "It worked too well, in fact. Erbina didn't believe that you and Dinah were married; because she much preferred to believe that you and Dinah were having an affair. That gave her the perfect excuse to commit murder—all in the name of the absent and nonexistent Mr. Drake."

"There's just no trust left in the world," Dick complained.

"She meant to teach you both a lesson." Unconsciously, Bruce's hand tightened on his cutlery. The thought that Dinah and Dick would have been poisoned if he hadn't called to pull the plug on the case made him shudder.

Dick picked up the narrative. "The other members of the Broken Hearts Club were starting to feel that Erbina was out of control. The arranged murders were beginning to pile up, and it was becoming more difficult to hide the evidence. The Sheriff was also growing suspicious—the Coroner's Reports just weren't matching up with the facts. He was conducting his own investigation, but it was hard when the people he was looking into comprised the Town Council."

Both men stood when Dinah and Barbara rejoined them. Bruce gallantly held Dinah's chair out for her. She gave them a bright smile. "You know, a girl could get used to this." Settling in, she attacked her pancakes with gusto. "So…what's going happen to Pleasantville's own version of Murder, Inc.?"

"The Feds are currently processing the indictments, but it's pretty much open and shut at this point. Once the evidence started piling up, they all started coming clean," Dick reported.

Barbara nodded. "The only question remaining was the bank president. His crime was—get this—embezzlement. He started taking money from his clients, a little at a time. Much to his surprise, when no one ever complained about missing funds, he just grew bolder. He hit the jackpot with Adele Carr's account. He tried talking to her about some irregularities, but she said she didn't care about the money and to stop bothering her."

"So…he just started intercepting any funds that were earmarked for her account," Dick finished. "Quite a little nest egg he was building for himself."

"Nice job if you can get it," Dinah said drolly. Taking a moment to cut, chew, and swallow, she added, "How about the Broken Hearts website?"

"It's was taken down by the Feds almost immediately. Right now, they've got their best cyber cops tracing the client list and anyone who visited the website. In order to put in a murder request, you had to be a member." Barbara shook her head in disbelief. "Anyway…they'll have their hands full for a while yet."

"What gets to me," Dinah said sadly, "is how normal everything seemed. I mean it was the kind of hometown that I wish I'd grown up in. I guess the person I feel the most sorry for is Katie Peters, Sam Peters' teenage daughter. Because the adults in her life couldn't handle their problems like grownups, she's essentially lost both her parents."

"There aren't any easy answers, Dinah," Barbara said.

"No, but I think that we can all attest to the fact that suffering a major tragedy doesn't have to mean it's the end." Dick held Bruce's eyes for a moment; then, turning to Barbara, reached for her hand and speaking gently added, "Sometimes, it's a new beginning."

Bruce picked up his orange juice glass. "I think this calls for a toast." The others raised their own glasses. "To new beginnings."

The End


End file.
